


Rage against the dying of the light

by Anna Marie Darkholme (WierdAlienFantasies)



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sister-Sister Relationship, The Guardians of the Galaxy - Freeform, grieving process
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:52:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16390667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WierdAlienFantasies/pseuds/Anna%20Marie%20Darkholme
Summary: aka "A Luphomoid's Guide to Grieving"Nebula deals (or not) with the death of her sister post Infinity War and tries to fill the hole she left behind.





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I lasted all of three days before deciding I had to start a new multi-chapter Gamora & Nebula fic. This time Nebula is the main POV character, and also expect a lot more Guardians this time round! 
> 
> Although the first part of Chapter One is set after Infinity War part 1, the rest is set after the end of Avengers 4 (so will probably turn out to be AU from then on).

After Stark finally succumbs to his exhaustion and falls asleep, Nebula is left alone on the Milano’s deck. She refuses to leave her self-appointed post, a reasonable choice seeing as Stark has no experience of spacecraft and therefore to avoid a brutal and sudden death it falls to her to man the craft. What is less easy to explain away is how she is steadfastly refusing to look back at one particular seat. Luckily there is nobody but Stark to ask, and he is too consumed with his own loss and _potential loss_ to pay much attention to her.

The fingers on her mechanical arm twitch. A hang up of the poor initial setup of their neural-interface, she has long ago learnt to ignore it. Usually she can consciously supress the fault, but it takes a lot of focus. When she is distracted by strong emotions or too many thoughts, as she is now, the twitch returns. The thoughts to blame for the current twitch revolve around her sister. She has an inexplicable urge to go to Vormir, to see her body.

Unfortunately, in order to protect her, her sister never revealed Vormir’s location to her. She has never seen it labelled on any of the star charts she has studied (and with the cybernetic half of her brain granting photographic memory, she can be sure she truly has not seen it and not merely forgotten it). She has no idea where to even start looking, not even a group of quadrants to narrow her search to. Still, the map Gamora burned may have been replicated at some point.

In a moment of weakness, Nebula caves and plugs herself into the Milano’s on-board comsystem. She can use the systems to link up with local datanets and trawl through for any mention of Vormir… her thought train is halted by an internal warning. **No connection.** Confused, Nebula disconnects then runs through the steps again, slower this time, trying to avoid whatever mistake she must have made. Once again she is presented with the flashing warning, but this time she is certain she did everything correctly.

Her eyes narrow as she tries to ascertain what is going wrong. Maybe her systems retain some damage from her torture at Thanos’s hands? She’d admittedly done a rush job putting herself back together in her haste to face him again, but she is fairly sure she did not miss anything that would limit her efficiency (comfort was another matter, but it had never been one of Nebula’s priorities). Suddenly, it hits her. Thanos had murdered half the universe. Half the people employed to maintain the datanets were _dead_. Their sudden demise would almost certainly have led to catastrophic and total shutdown.  The reason she cannot find a connection is because there is nothing left to connect to.

She sits there, still save for the occasional blink. She has no way to find Vormir. She has no way to find her sister. With a cry, she slams her fist into the comsystem control panel. She gets no satisfaction through destruction, nor any distraction through the pain that blooms as purple blood trickles down her split knuckles. She is just left with the emptiness within her. Later, when Stark returns to the console after his rest, he eyes the new dent warily. For once, he is wise enough to keep any thoughts he has to himself.

...

Later, whilst everyone recovers on Terra after the final battle with Thanos, Nebula’s thoughts return to Vormir. She could easily sneak away. She could go and access the technology of the Terrans and the Asgardians who arrived in the arkship just days ago. She could scan the entire galaxy. Simple probability dictates that there would be at least one intact datanet out there somewhere. She could perform the necessary searches and calculations and extrapolation. She could find Vormir. Depending on where the location turned out to be, she could steal a craft and be there by the end of the cycle. She could, but she will not. There is no point. She already knows her sister is dead.

She knew Gamora was dead the moment she realised Thanos had arrived alone on Titan. She does not retreat into denial over her sister’s death, not like Quill and the fox do at first. She cannot; to be in denial you need hope. Nebula has not had hope for years. It was ripped from her by Thanos then all memories of it beaten out of her still bleeding body.

Gamora had hope. She’d had so much hope. Some of it was her own, fiercely clung to since childhood. Some of it had come from others- from her band of idiots, from those they managed to help, and from those they didn’t have to. She’d offered her hope to Nebula, a whispered confession the last time they’d been together alone.

_“I believe I can atone for what I did under Thanos. I can make a difference, I can save lives and ensure little girls do not suffer as we once did. There is hope for the galaxy, and me, yet.”_

_A pause had followed as Gamora turned to glance at Nebula. There was something in her gaze that had left Nebula unable to hold it. Gamora had laid a gentle hand against her shoulder. Nebula had only tensed slightly; she was beginning to learn that not all contact ended in pain, especially with her sister. Gamora had taken her acceptance of the gesture as a signal to continue._

_“And there is hope for you too sister.”_

Nebula had not understood her sister’s hope then, does not understand it now. It matters little in the end for her sister’s hope is lost, scattered like ash on the wind. Gamora herself is gone, _is dead_ , and what little chance Nebula ever had of regaining hope died with her.


	2. Anger

Anger is easy for Nebula. It’s familiar, _safe_. She can do anger, be angry like few other beings in the galaxy. This time though there’s a pain to the anger she’s never felt before. In a detached sort of way, it reminds her of the double bladed sword Thanos used to force her to use, ripping her hands to shreds even as she tore apart her opponents. She used to think her anger could burn forever, but now it seems to be consuming her.

She is not sure what she is angry at. Briefly, she lets her resentment flare against the whole universe, against all the countless planets and races that have just stood by and let her suffer and her sister die. She could destroy it all, cut swathes across the galaxy. No one on this planet could stop her. With her sister dead and her murderer dead too, there is nobody left in the _universe_ who could stop her. But, even in her rage, Nebula can’t shut out thoughts of her sister. She can’t bring herself to do it, can’t bear for Gamora’s name to be tainted with further bloodshed. She doesn’t think even Thanos has broken her enough to make her like Ronan, to make her _like him_. Somehow she can’t find it in herself to feel anything at this revelation but more rage.

Her rage simmers quietly within her at all times, slowly mounting. As a consequence of her enhancements her movements always have a rigid edge to them, but now her vast well of anger accentuates it. Every gesture betrays the energy simmering underneath, the calm before the storm, the stillness before the explosion. She finds herself almost ripping handles off doors, nearly slamming cupboards off their hinges, almost shattering anything she grasps. She knows such gestures are pointless yet she has so much anger she cannot stop it leaking out.

She has not made an effort to get to know any of the Terrans beyond how they fight. She can barely _name_ some of them. It has meant she has been left in relative peace, rarely acknowledged bar a polite dip of the head. Now, with the anger rolling off her in waves, some of them move aside or change direction when they see her. Logically, it is because of the anger they sense. However, in her rage, Nebula finds a small bitter voice whispering in her head that it’s really because of her appearance. _Uncanny valley_ , she thinks. She remembers the term from her research on Terran psychology and customs. Where an object appears almost humanoid, but not quite, eliciting feelings of revulsion and eeriness.

She should be used to it by now but each time someone shies away from her her anger burns that little bit brighter. She didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask for Thanos to rip her apart for her failures until she couldn’t even remember what she once was. At the back of her mind, the reason for her research on Terrans wears at her defences. It had been a spur of the moment decision, seeing how her sister was getting closer to Quill. She’d meant to prove herself better than her sister at something at last ( _meant to impress her_ ). She’d never gotten a chance to share that knowledge, as the next time she’d seen Gamora her vocal modulator was stretched out like the rest of her body, caught in the midst of Thanos’s torture. Another piece of fuel for her rage to consume.

 

...

 

Eventually Nebula’s rage builds to such a level that she can no longer ignore it. She has to release it somehow, and she knows of only one way to vent her rage. In her lonely wanderings of the compound all the Terrans and their allies and she herself have been staying in, she’s managed to build up a map of the place. There is some surprisingly sophisticated technology here, software and hardware she’d expect to turn up on Chandilar or Xandar or Hala, not some backward world in the Sol system. Sophisticated or not, it is still no match for her own enhancements. As such it is all too easy to hack into the controls she needs to grant herself access to the area she desires.

With a hiss the doors swish open and Nebula darts through, quickly closing them behind her. A cursory sweep reveals no obvious survellience nor any other sentient being in here with her. Normally that would make her relax, but with her anger at breaking point she cannot release the tension coiled in her muscles. She reaches for her baton, but stops before her fingers brush the cool steel. She does not need a weapon. _She is the weapon_. Leaving the baton sheathed, she uses her cybernetics to uplink to the room’s central processing unit. A robotic voice sounds, both within her head and outside through the room’s speaker system. **Signal received, new code intergrated. Visuals updated. Safeties disengaged. Difficulty set to maximum. Session comenence in 3… 2… 1…**

Nebula breathes in, closes her eyes. As the final number is called out she takes all her rage and hurls it outwards. With a roar, she explodes forward and hurls herself at the simulated enemies.

 

…

 

Exactly 53 minutes later Nebula drops to her knees as the robotic voice announces. **Simulation complete. All threats terminated. New fastest time recorded.** Nebula does not really register the words, the blood roaring in her ears blocking them out. Chest heaving, she gulps in greedy lungfulls of oxygen as her body desperately struggles to recover. A high pitched whine and wet pops tell her she sustained some damage, but she can’t feel where her modifications are at work repairing her. Her body is drenched in sweat and oil, not her own internal lubrication fluid but that of the machines, whose smouldering remains litter the room. Nebula moves to get up, but then she feels it. Behind the fading thrill of battle and newly brought on exhaustion and ever present pain, rage still grips her heart.

She growls in frustration, pushes herself upright and spins on one heel to stalk out the battle simulation room. The doors hiss open once more, stopping her in her tracks. There, blinking nervously like a small creature caught in bright light, is _Quill_. For a heartbeat as their eyes lock neither move. The stillness is so complete that Nebula, fighting down a surge of panic, briefly worries she’s been caught in one of the stasis beams Thanos favoured for his _talks_ (his word, as he always did like to gloss over the suffering he wrought). Quill breaks the illusion by clearing his throat, an uneasy smile breaking his expression.

“Hey Neb, I was just um… looking for the bathroom… and yeah, funny I should run into you…”

His eyes dart behind her, widening slightly. Somewhat admirably the utter destruction she has left in her wake doesn’t make him stop, his mouth carrying on regardless.

“… yeah, that’s quite the workout you did there. So, um, seems like there’s something on your mind. Wanna, I don’t know, talk it out maybe seeing how you’ve tried the punching route…”

On her best day, Nebula has little patience. Gamora had been able to temper her somewhat, keep her calm enough to at least attempt to wait things out. But Gamora is gone now, and so there is nobody to stop Nebula as she interrupts Quill with a snap.

“Stop dancing around Quill, say what you came to say and be done with it.”

Quill blinks, momentarily stunned by the abruptness. He bites his lip, uncertainty flashing in his eyes as he debates something internally. He seems to reach a decision, deflating slightly.

“Look, I get it. I really do. Thing is, Okoye was called down to check on an alert in the battle simulation room and saw you…"

He pauses to gesture vaguely at the still smoking carnage behind Nebula, giving her a chance to process what he has said. _Okoye._ Nebula recalls the woman Quill speaks of, one of the Terrans. Nebula has not spent much time with her, but what little she has seen of her has given her a strong impression. Her every movement had been tempered with the grace and control of a warrior, and what little Nebula had witnessed on the battlefield had earned her begrudging respect. Not that she’d admit it, but she’d even catalogued some of Okoye’s inspired spearwork to replicate and add to her own repertoire.

“She seemed kinda impressed, which is odd seeing as she wouldn’t spare a glance at me when I was breaking in the repairs on my element blaster…”

Nebula tilts her head at Quill’s brief aside. She thinks he may have purposely included such irrelevant information, but she can’t quite decipher why.

“… and, well, she said this has to be a one time thing. Wakanda is insanely rich, but even they have limits and this kinda destruction isn’t exactly cheap. She said she’d let you have this one though, because she… she knows what it’s like to lose a sister.”

As Peter speaks the last phrase his voice softens. Nebula tenses, her rage swirling. How dare they presume what is going on inside her head, how dare they bring _Gamora_ into this. She is going to… something in Quill’s face stops her. Those eyes, so damn expressive, easily displaying the emotions she wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ feel. Although she had not understood it, she had seen the way her sister looked at him. The way he had looked back at her. It dawns on her that Quill too must be reeling over her loss. With that, the fire of her rage splutters and dies. Something in her posture must give her away, because Quill’s expression changes. Nebula can’t name the emotion on his face, but it reminds her of Gamora after she’d confessed to her that she’d only ever wanted a sister.

“I miss her too. Every damn second.”

Quill’s voice is so gentle, so understanding, Nebula can’t face him. With stilted movements, she reaches into her belt and draws out her credit screen. She taps it a few times, face scrunched in concentration, before shoving it at Quill. Head half lowered to avoid meeting his eyes, she mutters.

“Here, give these Units to Okoye. There should be enough to cover the damage fully. Tell her… tell her this incident will never be repeated, she has my word.”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Quill open his mouth to say something, but she pushes past him before he can. She does not run away, as that would imply she is afraid of something. However as she puts distance between them her stride is noticeably faster than usual.

 

…

 

Nebula retreats to a ventilation shaft she discovered the second cycle she spent on Terra. It is a small, claustrophobic space, but it is the only place she has found with any sense of privacy. Here she will not be distracted, here she can be alone. Except her brain, against her will, insists on replaying one of her memories.

_Nebula has had her first few enhancements, but is still mostly flesh. Bar her left hand, her skin appears smooth and unbroken (the scars of the surgeries are hidden under her tunic, but she can pretend they do not exist). She and Gamora are sparring, preparing for the next bout Thanos has ordered for three days’ time. As always, Gamora is effortlessly better. Her form is tigher, her reactions faster, her strikes harder. Despite herself, Nebula allows her jealousy to bubble over and makes a reckless assault. Gamora deftly dodges, and with a lightning fast counter sends Nebula tumbling to the floor. Rage and shame mingle with her jealousy, and Nebula cannot stop the words that escape her lips._

_“One day I will kill you.”_

_Gamora’s face betrays no concern, emotions carefully guarded._

_“Not with form like that.”_

_Nebula snarls, roughly shoves herself to her feet. She winces slightly as the joint in her left wrist flares in pain, the connections still raw from the latest surgery. As she faces Gamora once more, her sister’s face has shifted into an expression she has never seen before. She doesn’t understand it, and that only increases her anger. She snaps._

_“What?”_

_Gamora’s reply is level and smooth._

_“I was just thinking.”_

_Nebula grits her teeth, hates that she cannot leave it at that. Hates that she still desperately wants Gamora’s attention, her affection, her sisterhood._

_“About?”_

_Gamora cocks her head slightly, studies Nebula carefully._

_“What you’d do if I died.”_

_Without missing a beat Nebula replies._

_“Celebrate the fact that I’d finally bested you in combat, then take my rightful place as father’s favourite child.”_

_That strange expression ghosts across Gamora’s face again._

_“And if someone else kills me?”_

_Nebula pauses. She’d truthfully never thought of that. Something about it doesn’t sit well with her, stirs strange feelings within her. Her face darkens, and there is a grave seriousness to her next words._

_“I’d kill them.”_

_Gamora stares at her for a long time, but does not say anything else. However, that very night, a single blanket had appeared in Nebula’s bare chambers. She had been grateful for the small protection against the biting cold, and so elected to ignore the easily recognisable scent that clung to the fabric._

The blanket is now long gone. Nebula wishes she could hold it one last time, clutch it close to her chest and inhale that familiar scent. She cannot. The thought should inspire new anger within her but it does not. She has no anger left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to rearrange this chapter and the next, so that one scene that was going to end this chapter is in fact going to be in the next. As a result some of the Guardians have yet to feature, but I promise they will all be making an appearance in the next chapter! As always, thanks to everyone who reads this, it blows my mind that people actually enjoy the stuff that buzzes around in my head!


	3. Bargaining

Once the Guardians announce they plan to leave Earth and return to “guarding” the galaxy, the atmosphere in the compound shifts. Everyone suddenly seems to go into overdrive, hurrying from place to place. There is not a single surface without either designs or half assembled technology. Nebula goes mainly unnoticed, quietly sticking to the shadows and observing it all. She is only asked to help once, by the fox. He approaches her and instead of his usual half-insult greeting shifts awkwardly. With a roll of her eyes, she speaks first.

“What do you want fox?”

His fur bristles slightly at her term for him, but he quickly reigns in his control. Taking a deep breath he steels himself, then speaks.

“Look, I’m jus’ gonna come out an’ say it. We need some parts ta repair the Milano, parts that ain’t available on Terra. I configured some scanners ta search for any viable alternatives, an’ well… it found one. Parta your circuitry, upper arm an’ some internal stuff…”

He waves a scanner as he speaks, which Nebula snatches to study. Even as he continues to talk, she begins her own assessments.

“Shouldn’t be anythin’ essential for core functions, but ain’t gonna be nice takin’ it out. Without it, we can’t fly. It’s a big ask, but well if Gam was here… look, jus’ consider it okay?”

Nebula freezes at the mention of her sister’s name. When the fox trails off, she abruptly turns and walks away. She keeps the scanner though.

 

* * *

 

Later that cycle, after dark has fallen, Nebula sits alone in her room. The fox had been correct, it was decidedly not nice taking the circuitry out. Wrist deep inside herself, she has to grit her teeth against the feedback as it bleeds into her organic neurones sending relays of pain cascading across her brain. With a final hiss she throws the tangled mess of circuitry and components to the floor. She sits there for a moment, gathering her breath. Then, with practiced efficiency, she wields herself back together.

Back in one piece (or as much as she could be given the circumstances), Nebula sets out for the fox’s quarters. Overriding the lock without a second glance, she slips into a cluttered space. She takes in the engine parts, electronics and plans strewn about and strung up in a haphazard fashion. In one corner, surrounded by the teenaged tree, a small pile of fur rises and falls rhythmically. That suits Nebula fine; she would rather not have to face him. Silently approaching, she gently lays down her circuitry and the scanner beside the fox. As she straightens up to leave, the tree’s eyes open. He blinks once, then whispers.

“I am groot?”

Nebula considers simply leaving, but worries the tree would wake the fox if she did. Face impassive, she gives a clipped answer.

“I have brought the parts you need. I was careful to remove everything the scanner identified.”

“I am groot.”

The tree extends a branch, growing it out towards Nebula. It stops just before her face, then before her eyes a simple white and yellow flower sprouts. She stares at it, then hesitantly reaches a hand out. Her fingers ghost across the petals, lingering for a moment. Then she turns and leaves without another word.

 

* * *

 

In just four cycles, the Milano has been restored to what Quill refers her “former glory”. Nebula feels that glory is not an appropriate term but the ship is once again spaceworthy (if only just). The Guardians have spent the whole day preparing to leave, conversing with the Terrans to trade farewells and contact devices. Nebula herself has been diligently avoiding all the Guardians. Now, in her quarter, she surveys the items laid out before. Possessions are a luxury she cannot afford, however these items may prove useful. Two changes in outfit (all identical to the one she now wears), a plain bar of soap, a toothbrush and cleaning paste, a small collection of tools and a half depleted medikit. With a final glance she stuffs them all into a bag then makes for the Milano.

When she arrives at her target, pre-flight checks are still being carried out. The bay locks have yet to be engaged and so Nebula can simply walk aboard. As soon as she sets foot on the bridge, all eyes swivel to fix on her. She shifts under the force of their combined gaze. She begins to wonder if she is making a mistake, but it is too late for her to back down without losing face. Squaring her shoulders she fixes her expression and holds her head high.

“I am coming with you. You require a well trained warrior now that…”

She hesitates for a second, quickly covering it up and moving on.

“… now that there is a vacancy. I do not require any of your resources and ask for no share of any income you should earn. I will do as required on your little _missions_ guarding the galaxy, and in between you need not know I am even here.”

Nebula’s statements are met with shocked silence. Quill and the fox’s jaws are actually hanging open, whilst the destroyer’s brow is furrowed as though he is trying to understand something but cannot even begin to fathom it. Mantis looks slightly confused (although Nebula is fairly certain that is her default look when not smiling) and the tree seems preoccupied with the device in his branches. Quill recovers first, a shaky smile on his face.

“Well, we’d have to give you a trial period, but I don’t see why not. I bet you could get us better prices at refuelling stations if nothing else…”

“Are ya outta ya krutackin’ mind?”

The outburst comes from the fox. He gestures angrily at Nebula as he continues.

“I mean, sure she’s helped us once or twice, but she’s also tried ta kill us! Many times! Plus now her daddy dearest’s gone, who knows what the flark she’ll do?”

“I think she deserves a chance.”

Mantis chimes in. The tree does not even glance up from his game as he gives his opinion.

“I am groot.”

The destroyer frowns, rubbing his chin in thought. Slowly, he too speaks.

“Whilst the cyborg is unpredictable, we could use more warriors. In addition, since Ego, she has appeared to only be on our side.”

He pauses, expression turning melancholy.

“Gamora would have vouched for her.”

The mention of her sister’s name slams into Nebula. Her body twitches, a flicker of emotion flashing across her eyes. Quill’s face falls and even the fox deflates. A minute passes in silence, then the fox speaks again.

“Dammit, ya got a point there. Fine, but don’t blame me if she kills us all while we sleep.”

“Well, welcome to the Guardians of the Galaxy Neb.”

As Quill turns to her he has a smile on his face but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“For now Mantis can show you round whilst we prepare for take-off. You can have… you can have the empty quarters. We’ll sort out your place in our task rotas once we’re in space.”

Nebula nods stiffly in agreement. She wants to say something but cannot find the words. She wants the Guardians to know the real reason she’s decided to join them, to honour her sister’s memory. As Mantis gently leads her away, she thinks maybe the Guardians have allowed her to stay for the same reason.

 

* * *

 

Slowly Nebula starts to find her place. Trying to slot in with the other Guardians is like fighting multiple enemies at once, having to keep track of what they do and do not like and tailor her actions based not just on who she is interacting with but also with who else may be nearby. Gamora was better with people, could seamlessly establish respect then partnership then _friendship_. Try as she might, she just cannot replicate that. Nebula is not her sister, a fact she holds against herself even though the other Guardians do not.

Groot, Nebula quickly establishes, is still an adolescent despite his ever growing size. She never so much as quirks an eyebrow at his use of newly learned vulgar language and so he rarely uses it around her. Sometimes, needing a distraction when the others sleep, Nebula does odd tasks around the ship to keep herself busy. Having observed Groot’s reluctance to do his assigned tasks, Nebula tends to start with those. How Groot finds out she cannot say, but once he does she finds herself in his high regard.

At first Drax poses problems. Nebula cannot get through even one conversation with him without storming off in anger (as she defends herself to an exasperated Peter, it is either that or hit the Destroyer _hard_ ). He is always pointing out her deficiencies and describes her in unflattering terms as though he is merely stating a fact. Nebula takes to ignoring his conversations or, when she truly has to, giving single word responses. During Nebula’s first assignment as a Guardian ( _on probation_ , as Peter and Rocket always stress) a fight breaks out. In the heat of battle, she finds herself surrounded. The other Guardians are all out of sight save for Drax. Their eyes lock and something seems to click. He gives her a nod, and then as one they tear into their opponents. Since then he has been making an effort to curtail some of his observations, and when he can’t she somehow finds it within herself to merely roll her eyes.

Rocket is antagonistic at best, but as far as Nebula can tell that is how he is with all the other Guardians (save Groot of course). Still, Nebula knows he and Gamora had a mutual respect and understanding. This motivates her to dig a bit deeper. She is aware the fox is an uplift, but had never realised to what extent until she catches him without his shirt on. He snaps at her and chases her off, but not before she observes the bolts and old scars. The image stays with her, and so when the Milano next stops at a trade post she slips away to make a few purchases. That night, Rocket retires to his quarters to find Nebula standing there.

“What the flark? Look, I don’t know what ya are used ta, but here we stick ta our owns rooms ‘kay? Ya ain’t even my type…”

Nebula ignores his words and instead shoves the items she is holding into his arms. He blinks in shock, cut off mid-sentence. He looks at the items, his shock only increasing. Before he can recover enough to speak again Nebula cuts in.

“These are a selection of medicinal supplies. All are applied topically. They should help with pain and, in time, should cause the scarring to fade away. It cannot undo the damage, but at least it can make it more manageable. The tin contains edibles Groot assured me you are partial to. For when you need… a distraction. Something nice to focus on.”

For a second, Nebula worries she has made a mistake. The fox will not meet her eyes and his posture is all tense. Then, very quietly, he murmurs.

“Thanks… I forgot…”

He trails off, struggles for the words, before finally continuing.

 “It’s nice ta have someone who understands.”

From then on Rocket’s antagonisms have a softer undertone. He even allows her to join him in the engine room and doesn’t dismiss _all_ of her suggestions for upgrades to the Milano.

Nebula knows Mantis could discover all kinds of things about her with a single touch. Mantis could destroy her, could gain control and force her to do anything she wanted. She could, but she doesn’t. Not once does she even _ask_ to, much less physically attempt to, touch her. It bothers Nebula, so much so that she ends up asking Mantis about her abilities. Watching how her face lights up at being asked a question, Nebula quite by chance stumbles upon a way to make Mantis happy. It seems silly to Nebula to get so emotional over such a simple act, but every time she seeks out Mantis and asks her questions (from her opinions to simply what she has done that day, the question itself apparently matters little) Mantis brightens so that her whole body _glows_ in happiness. It is almost as silly as Nebula’s desire to keep doing it, to keep making Mantis happy.

Strangely, of all the Guardians, the only one Nebula continues to struggle with is Peter. Her interactions with him, although never outwardly hostile, remain short and clipped. The truth is she cannot help but see Gamora in Peter, and reminders of her sister are still raw and painful. She guesses he sees a little of her sister in her too as sometimes when he looks at her his eyes fill with unbearable sadness and he gets unusually quiet. They soldier on, avoiding one another as much as possible to escape the ghost of Gamora that hangs between them. The Milano is a small ship though, and sometimes Nebula just cannot stay away from Peter.

That is how, during one night cycle, she finds herself rooted in place as she stares at Peter. The fact he is still awake is not a complete surprise as Nebula has found all of the Guardians are occasionally kept awake by night terrors and memories. What he is doing is no surprise either, dancing along to his Zune as he does virtually every cycle. Admittedly this time his movements have a certain sadness to them that is a far cry from his usual “dancing” (Nebula thinks that is far too a generous term for his flailing). But it is not surprise that has Nebula frozen in place. It is a memory, assaulting all her senses as she helplessly relives it.

_Nebula stands in the very same place. Gamora is just before her, watching Peter as he obliviously dances away to the music trickling through the sound system. Nebula has never seen her sister look that way at another sentient before, but some deep part of her instinctively recognises the softness in her gaze. Love. That worries Nebula. Love is a weakness, a potential way for their enemies and Thanos to hurt her sister like never before. She feels compelled to try and protect her. Clearing her throat, she speaks_

_“Sister, be careful. Your feelings for Quill will not end well. It would be better for you and him if you stop before you truly start.”_

_Gamora’s head snaps to face her. She blinks in surprise, though whether that is because she managed to catch her unawares or because of her words themselves Nebula is unsure. Gamora schools her expression into a carefully neutral mask before replying._

_“I am afraid you are mistaken sister. There is no… no unspoken thing between Peter and myself.”_

_She keeps her voice admirably level, but Nebula is observant and knows things about her sister nobody else does. She knows Zenhoberians do not blush, but that as a response to embarrassment their pupils dilate. Gamora’s pupils are far wider than usual. Nebula tenses in anger, prepares to call her sister out, but stops herself. She does not want to upset Gamora, does not want to lose the tentative sisterhood they have rebuilt. So she takes a deep breath, then tries again._

_“I do not mean to be cruel. I just… I care about you. I do not wish to see you hurt.”_

_Gamora’s expression relaxes into a fond smile. Placing a hand on Nebula’s shoulder, her next words contain a warmth that Nebula feels to her core._

_“Nebula, thank you for looking out for me. I assure you, even if there was something between Peter and I, it would be no threat to us.”_

_Nebula is not entirely convinced, but she does trust her sister’s judgement. With a sigh, she relents._

_“Alright. As long as you do not let your affections impact your performance in battle, it is acceptable. Seeing as you feel the same way, I suppose I shall have to refrain from castrating Quill for the way he looks at you…”_

_At that Gamora laughs, a pleasant and light sound that Nebula has not heard often enough. Some part of her, deeply buried and carefully hidden, is grateful to Peter for making her sister happy enough to laugh again._

The memory ends as abruptly as it started, but leaves Nebula reeling. She has been fooling nobody. She can never fill the hole her sister left behind. What Peter needs, what the Guardians need, _what the universe needs_ , is Gamora back. Silently, Nebula turns and heads straight for the Milano’s emergency escape pod. Maybe she still cannot bring her sister back, but she has to at least try one last time.

 

* * *

 

Luckily Vormir is a mere 40 jumps from her location. Throughout all of them, Nebula steadfastly ignores the hails from the Milano. She knows the ship’s engines, currently mid upgrade, cannot attempt jumps at the moment, and so the Guardians cannot follow her. If all goes well, they will thank her later. If all doesn’t, then at least she can be sure they are _safe_.

The swirling purple atmosphere of Vormir slowly fills up the horizon. The fingers on Nebula’s mechanical hand start to twitch. She doesn’t even notice; all her focus (save the minimal required to land the escape pod in one piece) is being spent on suppressing the memories of when they’d found Gamora’s body, on suppressing the images her imagination has supplied of how she had come to lie broken on the ice strewn ground.

With a shuddering crunch, the escape pod lands. Nebula disembarks, shrugging off the raging storm. Confident her thermostat modules will protect her from any _permanent_ damage, she sets off for the twin towers atop the ragged cliff in the distance. She ignores the biting cold and howling wind in favour of considering her approaches. She just hopes the Guardian of the stone remains, even now that the stone he presided over is long gone.

 

* * *

 

In just two hours, Nebula heaves herself up the last foot to reach the base of the towers. She stands there, chest heaving, and looks around expectantly. She sees nothing. She delves into alternate spectra but each scan she initiates comes back blank. She is just beginning to feel the verges of despair creep in when a figure swathed in black rags materialises out of the storm. It pulls back the hood to reveal a crimson visage vaguely reminiscent of a Terran. At the back of her mind, Nebula wonders if perhaps another planet on the Sol system holds life. Touching down directly in front of her, the figure speaks.

“Child of Luphom, why have you come to this place.”

Nebula pauses a moment, considering her options. Deciding to play along for now, she meets the terrible gaze of the figure without flinching and replies.

“Stonekeeper, I come seeking answers. My sister, Gamora, was slaughtered in exchange for your charge. I seek to bring her back.”

The Stonekeeper’s face twists into a strange expression.

“You should not have come here. There is nothing for you here.”

Nebula grits her teeth, but refuses to give up so easily.

“No, there must be a way to restore Gamora. If you require payment of some sort, I can offer you whatever coinage you desire or my assistance in any task you request.”

The Stonekeeper does not respond, and so Nebula keeps trying.

“If it is too difficult a process for you, just tell me the details. I can locate one renouned in the mystic arts or science or technology far more advanced than even my own systems.”

Still nothing.

“I will do anything. Give anything. Even if… even if a life is required, I am prepared to pay that price. Please, Stonekeeper, there must be a way to restore her.”

The Stonekeeper’s face twists into a mask of disgust.

“I can tell you nothing, for I lack the knowledge you seek. I was cursed only to guard the soulstone; I do not understand its mysterious ways. Go now, and never return.”

Before Nebula can react, either to fall to her knees and beg or launch an assault to beat the truth out of the Stonekeeper, a golden glow sweeps over her senses. When she comes to, she is strapped back in her escape pod leaving the atmosphere of Vormir. Desperately she pours over the controls, but it seems the Guardian has set her course for the next quadrant.

With an angry cry, Nebula turns away from the controls. With nothing else to do, she allows herself to process what the Stonekeeper said. All her offers were for nought. What she wants, _the only thing in the universe she wants_ , cannot be given to her. Gamora is dead, and nothing she does can change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. As you can see, it turned out a lot longer than usual, in fact it was my longest single chapter to date (longer than my standalone works)! Thank you for your patience, I hope it proves to be worth it. I did enjoy working on it, especially bringing the Guardians all into the story and getting to develop how they'd react to Nebula as a member of the team (and also getting to write a character I have never written before, Stonekeeper!Red Skull).


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